


Unsteady

by distantstarlight, FoolishAngel1987



Series: Pushing and Pulling [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sherlock, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Repressed, Fear, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Intimacy, Johnlock - Freeform, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Violence, Orgasm, Pre-Reichenbach, References to Drugs, Reichenbach Feels, Seduction, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Denial, Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoolishAngel1987/pseuds/FoolishAngel1987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor John Watson used to be a soldier but then he wasn't. He used to be a surgeon but that changed too. Everything changed when he returned to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was given a rather lovely outline by FoolishAngel1987 and decided to try and make it come alive. In my fever to get working on it I heartlessly abandoned all other work. It was strange to pace my work to another person's song but it was a dance I eagerly accepted.

Living with Sherlock was always a challenge. Being the flatmate of some kind of super genius was bound to be a challenge. That's what made John stay. The soldier put up with body parts in the fridge, the rather confusing experiments that seemed to permanently reside on their table, the late hours and the amazingly rude behavior all because John was challenged by it.

The world had been two dimensional for too long. John's mind didn't operate the way it used to, way back in the greener days of his life, before he joined the army. There he had discovered his real purpose, that spark that made him shine, that meaning. Then he lost it. The wound in his shoulder snuffed that light right out. Being invalided back to damp foggy London did nothing to reignite it.

Then he had met an inferno. A tempest. A raging battle. John met a demon who pulled back the veil over John's eyes and made him see properly for the first time. It wore a long wool coat and had a soft blue scarf around it's neck. Dark curls covered it's head in a nest and for a moment you could almost believe it was human. Then John saw Sherlock's eyes for the first time. Glorious.

John never got over that first impression of his best friend. They'd fallen in together so easily, their patterns and rhythms compatible even when they struggled against one another. It worried him. John was concerned that he was a little too attached to the strange young man. The women he'd failed to date successfully had all pointed out that John's devotion to his flatmate indicated more than simple friendship. Eventually John stopped denying it.

When yet another date mentioned it John decided it was official. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed sociopath (though high functioning if that makes a difference), world's only consulting detective (he'd made the job up himself), scientist (definitely), madman (not open to debate) and so forth, all of which John was perfectly fine with. That's who Sherlock was and John clearly loved it. John only had one issue with what Sherlock truly was for without a shadow of a doubt, Sherlock Holmes was a man.

John was not gay. He'd never once looked at a bloke and had even a fleeting thought about the way their neck seemed enticingly long or that the way they walked was unaccountably arousing. John had never once in the many situations where he had been pressed close to another soldier before battle been distracted by the scent of the sweat on their skin. He'd never fantasized about being forced to his knees, bent over and taken while a long hard body pressed to his back. No. Not once.

There was another sticking point. Sherlock had a way of describing himself. Asexual. He wasn't interested in sex, relationships, sentiment or anything that would detract from the one thing that did interest him. The Work. Sherlock grudgingly admitted that John was his best friend but even that had been after John had been strapped to a bomb (a reoccurring hazard of The Work). If there were larger feelings growing inside the tall slim man John couldn't imagine what kind of catastrophe would have to occur for him to confess them.

It was disrupting things, these feelings John had. He tried to respect his friend's choices, tried to keep his feelings to himself but John's body was a damnable traitor. Slowly over the weeks John had fought a battle with his body, willing it to not breath harder, not inhale deeper, not reach out so frequently, to not stand so fucking close to Sherlock! Every near touch, every shared breath, every wild circumstance that threw them together made John's war with himself rage harder.

Sherlock noticed. Of course he noticed. That was what Sherlock did, he noticed things. As they were best friends Sherlock did John a favor and never brought it up. He let John struggle to contain himself, not helping in the least as he continued to drag John through dark alleys and inside questionable buildings, got them both into one scrap after another while they solved cases, often ending up in Trauma together laughing as they blotted blood from one another. Those were the times they shared. John loved it. So did Sherlock.

After one particularly nasty night John had woken up in trauma again, his ribs bandaged tight and a new hole in his skin neatly stitched together. John sighed and wondered how many of his scars were from his life with Sherlock. “A third.” said a deep rich voice.

Sherlock was sitting by the bed, slouched in a chair like a cat, his thumbs moving quickly as he texted furiously. “A third what?”

“Fully one third of the scars on your body have been received due to your involvement with The Work. Most people would have walked away after getting the first one but you do seem to enjoy it.” Sherlock didn't look up though John was staring at him.

“I don't enjoy it. It hurts.” said John flatly.

“You keep doing it so it suggests that you do enjoy some of it. If you didn't why would you continue to place yourself in jeopardy?” text text text text.

“You know why I do it.” John was a little unhappy. Was Sherlock testing him? They'd never discussed this but both men had a silent agreement to never wander this way verbally. 

“No I'm afraid I don't.” text text text text. John was getting annoyed with Sherlock not looking at him when they were broaching a forbidden topic.

“I think you do. Maybe you should come back later since you're so busy.” The texting abruptly stopped. Sherlock slipped his phone into his coat and turned his magnificent eyes to John. They darted over his face, John's body, flickered over the bandages and locked onto his eyes again. Sherlock got up and walked out of the room and John was grateful. That had been close.

When his bandages were finally off John found it wasn't long before he was racing through dark streets again, chasing, always chasing after Sherlock. It was exhilarating, life-affirming and devastating. John's problems were getting exponentially worse. The cases mounted, all escalating in complexity. Sherlock's brilliance once again illuminated dark places, revealing the things that lived there and had them taken safely away. John's heart hurt for the love he felt but couldn't share.

No one could know. Well Mycroft knew. John burned with fury when he found out Mycroft had the flat bugged AGAIN and had heartlessly winkled John's secret out of him. It was none of Sherlock's brother's business what happened inside John's heart. Now the tall dignified civil servant seemed to take every opportunity to subtly needle the pair about the unspoken situation.

John still had to see his therapist. Each visit to the trauma room was noted on her chart, each incident picked over to see if it had set John back or helped him deal with his PTSD. It was hard to tell. John's nightmares about the war had disappeared over time but had been replaced with nightmares of a different sort. Now Sherlock featured in John's nightmares. Sherlock was the epitome of hubris. He was never touched by the fallout of his actions. No. The collateral damage from Sherlock being Sherlock always fell to Mycroft to fix and now to John.

John smoothed over one social faux pas after another, following in the wake of Sherlock's verbal destruction like the doctor he was. He soothed hurt feelings, shunted away harsh judgments, deflected abuse heaped on them and was a good soldier for his friend. John was made for battle and Sherlock was a war zone. John abandoned one date after another at the slightest request from Sherlock and without being asked tailored every piece of his life to be at the madman's disposal. Sherlock never questioned the rightness of this.

They were eating dinner out when a group of teen girls stopped by. With a lot of giggles it turned out they were fans of John's blog and wanted their autographs. Sherlock refused but John kindly scribbled on a napkin. The girls tittered and giggled some more. They asked how long Sherlock and John had been dating. “Almost half a year.” replied Sherlock.

“He's not my boyfriend. We're flatmates. He's having you on.” snapped John, glaring at Sherlock. The crowd of giggles ebbed away but the glare remained. “Sherlock you can't go around telling people we're dating when we're not.”

“I hardly see the difference between what we do and what other couples do John. We live together. We work together. We go out on lovely dinners together, you are enjoying your pasta aren't you or shall I call Angelo? Apart from your incessant devotion to carnal acts we really do have a perfect relationship.” He wasn't looking at John again! Sherlock was texting as he spoke dispassionately.

“Well I am devoted to carnal acts and you are not. Therefore, we are NOT boyfriends. Best friends yes, boyfriends, no. I date women. Not men. Especially men named Sherlock.” John had to be clear. He had to. It didn't matter if Sherlock was completely correct. They were already in what appeared to be a very committed yet sex free relationship.

“Oh for heaven's sake John if it means that much then I'll engage in coitus with you. Anything to rid our lives of those dullards you insist on bringing home. I mean really John, is it so very difficult to find an interesting woman to shag or do all your girlfriends need to fall within a physical guideline only?” Sherlock actually sounded serious. John stared at him, his pasta long forgotten.

“Engage in coitus? That's what you'd call it? Having sex isn't a medical procedure. It involves passion, love even.” Now Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Are you trying to tell me you were in love with all those women? If you were then you are the most fickle man on the planet. You fall in love with amazing frequency.” Sherlock's voice was almost bitter sounding.

“Having a one-off isn't the same as shagging your best friend! Whether you want to admit it sex involves feelings, even if they only last the night! I can't have sex with you and just pretend everything is the same as always. I'm not like that.” John was aghast at the idea. Casual sex with Sherlock? John couldn't keep it casual. “I couldn't do that Sherlock.”

“Why would sleeping with me be any different than you sleeping with some stranger from the pub? I admit that the idea of something so messy and tedious isn't very appealing but you seem to need a regular sexual outlet and quite frankly the time you invest in getting what amounts to a couple of hours of gratification seems a little wasteful. From what I've observed sexual encounters with you aren't exactly time consuming and all the time you spend chasing the empty headed bed-mates you seem to prefer should rightly be used solving cases.”

John glowered at Sherlock over his congealing pasta. Ignoring all the insults packed into Sherlock's comment John targeted the relevant topic. “So. You don't want sex. You just don't want me to date.”

“Essentially yes. I suppose if I concentrate you can do as you like with my body. I can work on some of the projects I have going on in my mind palace.” Sherlock was texting again.

John gritted out every word, anger and disbelief swamping him, “You don't even want to participate in it! You're willing to let me use your body like a flesh-light just to save some time for cases?”

Sherlock browsed the internet for a moment. His brow crinkled then cleared. “Flesh-light. Yes. I suppose that's an appropriate descriptor. I can't see how I'd get any enjoyment out of it.”

“No Sherlock.” John was adamant. Sherlock wasn't an empty vessel to be used and John was NOT a rutting animal!

“No? I thought you would leap at the chance.” Sherlock was texting again! Who was he texting so much?

“Why would you say that.”

“You know why.”

“No really I don't.”

“Fine John. You don't. Done? Let's go.” and Sherlock got up and just left, leaving John to sit there fuming at the madness he was addicted to. He did want sex with Sherlock. A lot of it. Days, months and years of hot sweaty dirty noisy sex. He didn't want a clinical arrangement with his best friend who would coldly provide temporary relief to his body's urges. Why would Sherlock even offer? Saying nothing John followed.

Weeks later and John was in trauma again. This time a livid Sherlock was shouting at him. “HE GOT AWAY JOHN! YOU LET HIM GET AWAY!”

“HE WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF KILLING YOU WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” John was bleeding from several wounds on his arms and legs. The criminal responsible had been arrested and was recovering nicely from the fall from Lestrade's patrol car as he waited in his jail cell. Sherlock had run off without giving John a clue why and John hadn't caught up until he'd found a nearly unconscious Sherlock locked in close combat with a man with a rather long knife. 

John had leaped into the fray without a thought. He would have subdued the man except that John had stepped on Sherlock's coat just as the taller man had started to stand. John had slipped after tripping Sherlock giving the criminal the opportunity to use the knife several times on John, landing one particularly nasty gash along John's ribs. He had also given them the slip and was apprehended later by Donovan of all people just as the ambulance arrived to take care of the four or five shallow stab wounds on John.

“WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU TRY TO ATTACK AN ARMED MAN WHEN YOU HAD NO WEAPON?” They were bellowing at each other, the stress of the weeks and months previous creeping up on them unexpectedly. 

“I HAD TO STOP HIM! HE WAS MURDERING THE MAN I LOVE!”

There was a ringing silence in the trauma ward. Everyone had heard John's declaration. Sherlock stood at the foot of John's bed and simply continued working on his mobile. Never had he seemed more inhuman than he did right then. John felt sick now. He had never meant to say the words, never meant to paint Sherlock into a corner. His heart still dropped as he watched his nightmare come true. Turning on his heel Sherlock stalked out of the ward and left John behind. 

John couldn't help himself, “Sherlock!” Sherlock didn't slow and didn't respond. He was gone. The nurses carefully avoided looking at John after that, everyone extra professional when helping him with bandages or pain killers. John's face burned for the longest time. He was filled with chagrin and remorse along with a healthy dose of shame chased with a dash of humiliation. The doctor was grateful when someone finally offered him a sedative. Eagerly he swallowed it down and let the chemicals take him away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No battle is simple. There is always more than one side and the complications can be unexpected. Both men are filled with secrets and worries. Everyone is. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, that's the plain truth.

Sherlock did not return. John spent four days in the hospital, two of the stab wounds in tricky locations. Mrs Hudson came by but only because Lestrade had called and asked after him. Sherlock hadn't even told Mrs Hudson that John was in the hospital. She tutted and fussed over the doctor before telling him Sherlock had been in and out for days now, almost never staying at the flat for more than a few short hours. John said nothing. 

When John was allowed to leave Sherlock didn't answer his texts. Instead a long black car slid to the front of the hospital just as John was leaving. Mycroft was there and he smirked at John the entire ride. John wasn't interested in listening to Mycroft pontificate about the pointlessness of sentiment so he sullenly stared out the window in silence.

The flat was cold. There was nothing in the fridge but left-overs that had been present before John had gotten hurt. A stack of mugs in the sink was the only indication that Sherlock had come and gone, those and the heavy smell of cigarettes in the air. The bastard had been smoking in the flat! John discovered that there wasn't any tea left either, even if there had been milk to put in it. Still limping carefully John made his way to Tesco to do the shopping. By the time he made it home he was in quite a bit of pain, finding it hard to breath.

Sherlock was there. He seemed to be working on something or at the very least he was hunched over his laptop. He glanced at John who was pale and beaded with sweat. “Finally. Tea John.”

Tea? He was demanding tea while John was swaying in front of him? John tottered to the kitchen and needed to sit down. “Make your own tea.” he said coldly. He was done. Whatever magic hold Sherlock had had on him was fading. John was too angry.

“You picked up biscuits. Good. I'll have them with the tea.” Sherlock wasn't even listening. John was hungry, he needed to eat and he needed tea. Painfully he got up to put the kettle on and made ONE cup of tea. While it was steeping John put away the groceries and turned to begin making a simple meal for himself. His tea was gone. Sherlock was drinking it and eating biscuits right out of the packet.

“You huge arse! That was my tea.” John was outraged.

Sherlock just shrugged. “I asked for tea and there it was. I didn't see your name on it.”

“My name is in fact on it. That's my John mug.” It was. The name John was printed in big red letters around the rim of the mug over and over again.

Sherlock just shrugged again and went back to work on his laptop. “Just set my dinner over there when you're done.”

John staggered back to the kitchen. He put away everything he had been planning to cook, made himself a new cup of tea, threw away three of the four experiments that were on the table before making himself a sandwich and going to bed. He ached from head to toe as he lay down and he was stiff from the anger and disappointment he felt toward Sherlock. John felt let down.

John woke up the next morning to find his coat, his only coat, in pieces on the kitchen table, Sherlock bent over it as he snipped carefully. “What the fuck have you done!” shouted John. He still ached from his healing wounds but the rent needed to be paid so John couldn't put work off another day.

“Quiet John. I'm preparing samples. A life depends on it.” Sherlock kept snipping smoothly as John watched in stunned horror. How was his coat saving lives?

“Sherlock! What am I supposed to wear now? I have to go to work in thirty minutes and I have no coat!” Sherlock shrugged. John gaped before throwing his hands in the air and storming off to get ready. After his shower John went to the kitchen to eat a quick breakfast only to discover everything he'd bought the night before was gone. John growled, “What happened to the food?”

“Contaminated. I had to bin it all.” John looked at the bin. Indeed it was filled with a fresh loaf of bread, all John's sandwich fillings, the unopened milk and all the fruit. It looked okay but John left it untouched. Not all of Sherlock's experiments were visible.

“What am I supposed to eat?” demanded John. Sherlock shrugged again, handed over his bank card and went back to cutting John's coat into small squares. John had to wear an extra jumper to keep warm. He stuffed Sherlock's card back into the Belstaff and stomped off to work in a fury.

A week after that it was John's socks. He'd couldn't even replace them thanks to his now entirely empty bank account. If Sherlock contaminated the fridge again they'd have no food. John was grateful he'd paid the bills already. He didn't fancy being hungry as well as cold. Now he would just be cold. All his socks had been cut into rings and for some reason strung into ropes. Furious John stomped into Sherlock's room, picked a pair of the most expensive looking socks he could find and used those. Before he left he pulled out Sherlock's sock drawer and emptied the entire thing on the floor. “Have fun re-indexing that.” snapped John on his way out.

John didn't know what to do. Sherlock was getting worse and worse. Every week saw something tragic happen to something owned by John. When Sherlock sent him to go pick up lunch at a local dumpling palace John took Sherlock's bank card and went shopping for himself. Three hours later he came home with a brand new coat, fresh fancy socks, as well as shoes to replace the ones Sherlock had poured animal urine into. John ate the dumplings before he got home and gave Sherlock the empty containers along with his bank card. “Need me to do anything else?” he asked blandly. Sherlock glared but shook his head.

The next night John came back from another failure of a date to find Sherlock hunched over the table with a welders helmet on, a blow torch, a metal clamp and four pieces of John's dogtags. There should have been two whole pieces not four separate ones. John stood gaping. “You...you...you fucking ASSHOLE! Why Sherlock! Why would you cut my dogtags? I bled for those. I almost died for those. What in the world could have been so important that you were willing to destroy MY DOGTAGS!!!!”

Before he knew it John had grabbed the lit torch away from Sherlock, doused it, yanked off the stupid helmet and punched Sherlock as hard as he could. Sherlock staggered back and John was surprised to feel Sherlock's fist connect with his jaw. It was on. Both men were now entirely furious. Hitting and kicking they made their way out of the kitchen and into the living room. John got several good strikes in but Sherlock used his greater height and longer arms to his advantage and soon had John in a choke hold. Cheeks pressed together they continued to roll around, lashing out at one another. Things were getting hazy. Sherlock was choking the air out of John and he would soon be unconscious. Desperate to get free John did something without thinking. He kissed Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock jerked away, his hand pressed to his lips, an expression of pure shock on his face. John was bellowing at him. “I hate you Sherlock Holmes! You've spent weeks destroying absolutely everything that matters to me. I've tried okay, I've tried to be your friend. I can't do this anymore Sherlock. You've gone too far.”

“Stop.” commanded Sherlock who even went so far as to throw his hand out in front of John's face. John swatted it away.

“Stop what.”

“Stop talking. You're about to tell me you're moving out and I don't want to hear it.” Sherlock sounded upset.

“Brilliant Mr Detective! What subtle clues did you use to glean that nugget of information?” Sherlock startled John by slumping down dejectedly onto the sofa and holding his head in his hands.

“It's inevitable John. It has been since the moment you moved in. It's always been just a matter of time. You are a good person and a good person should not allow themselves to live with someone like me.” John was stunned.

“Sherlock have you been waiting for me to move out for all this time?” Sherlock nodded and kept his face in his hands. “Why?”

“Isn't it painfully obvious John? I drive people away. It's what I do. I rub everyone the wrong way just as I have you and eventually everyone, and I mean everyone, leaves. Just because I lo....” Sherlock stopped speaking and refused to look at John.

“Just because you what Sherlock?” demanded John. “Sherlock. Just because you what? Tell me!”

Sherlock got up and looked down at John. His face was teary and angry at the same time. “Fine. You'll make me say it. I had no idea you were so cruel John. Just because I love you doesn't mean you should stay here. I'm not a good person. Not good enough for the John Watsons of the world.”

“You love me?”

“Stop saying it.”

“Why?”

“It's sentimental and I don't like it. Just leave it alone John. Go pack your bags or whatever it was you were about to threaten to do and just go.” Sherlock stormed off, locking himself into his bedroom before John could even shake his head in stunned amazement.

Sherlock loved John but he didn't want to talk about it. Sherlock had offered John sex but he himself wasn't interested in it. How could things be so right and so awful at the same time? John blinked walked briskly to Sherlock's door, hammering on it firmly. “Open up! I'm not done talking to you. Open the door Sherlock or I'm getting Mrs Hudson's master key and opening it anyway. You know she'd let me use it!”

John heard Sherlock hiss inside the room and decided getting the key would take too long. He kicked it in. Sherlock stared at him from the bed, another shocked look on his beautiful face. “What in the world is wrong with you John Watson!” he shouted angrily.

“You! You are what's wrong with me Sherlock Holmes! I told you I loved you. You told me you loved me too. Then you basically told me to move out! WHY?” John was hurt and outraged. What was so wrong with him that Sherlock was repelled by the idea of being with John?

“Everyone leaves John. Why waste time? Pack up your cardboard boxes and just go.” John shook his head. Sherlock sounded almost heartbroken. It tore at John and he wanted to make that sad tone in Sherlock's voice go away forever.

“I haven't left you Sherlock. I never could. You know this. I fucking love you!” John grabbed the worlds' only consulting detective by his lapels, dragging him forward until their faces were inches apart. “I've loved you since the beginning. Let me.”

As first kisses go it probably wasn't noteworthy except that it was Sherlock's very first real kiss and even though their teeth sort of clicked and John got his tongue bitten the tiniest amount it was enough to make John's heart race. Sherlock looked confused and a little mad so John kissed him again.

So much better the second time. This time John's mouth landed exactly as it should have, meeting Sherlock's full cupid bow mouth properly, licking and nudging until that wicked mouth opened and John could finally taste the tongue that had scorned so many. John felt a rush of victory when Sherlock gave a little helpless moan and almost collapsed in John's arms, clinging weakly to the doctor.

John was angry and ruthless. He pushed Sherlock back onto the bed, straddling his lean hips and pressing his shoulders to the pillows. John kissed Sherlock the way he'd wanted to so many nights, nights when he had burned with lonely frustration alone in his room, knowing Sherlock was a few steps and two doors away. Sherlock was making the most incredible sounds but his hands pushed at John.

The doctor pulled himself away immediately. Sherlock's eyes were black, blown wide open with arousal. It made him seem more demonic than ever. “I've never done this.” said the demon bluntly. John was staggered. Yes Mycroft had joked but John had never really believe...how did you get to be Sherlock's age looking the way he did and still be a virgin? The question was obviously written all over John's face because Sherlock was reading out loud. “There have been opportunities. I refused to capitulate to the baser urges that cloud the minds of so many.”

Well that stung. John pulled away entirely and sat at the edge of the bed, his lust entirely extinguished leaving plenty of room for the rage that remained. “So I'm base?”

“Sometimes John. Now especially.” Sherlock sounded surprisingly calm for a man who's lips were blatantly swollen with kisses and who's cheeks still bore a heavy flush of desire. John's anger took a beating as lust elbowed it's way back to the front of the line.

“You're turned on.” John was still ruthless but then you really had to be with Sherlock. This was no ordinary courtship, John understood that. Sherlock wasn't going to give in easily but John didn't want that either. He'd find a way around each and every barricade Sherlock threw at him until he dug his way in so deep the dark haired man would never be rid of him. “I kissed you. Your body flooded with endorphins because of me not because of the kiss. Your pulse is elevated and your eyes are dilated. You are breathing harder and I know you'd like to say it's because we're in the middle of an argument but you and I both know that's a half-truth. Base urges are exactly that Sherlock. Basic. Part of the package. You have them. You eat. You sleep. You fuck. If you're lucky you fall in love. You fell in love with me but for some reason you fight it. Why? What's wrong with me?”

Sherlock was almost snarling as he sat himself up and nearly jumped off the bed. What was John talking about? He was perfect, that was the whole problem! Sherlock stood next to the bedroom door and glowered at John. “What makes you think it has anything to do with YOU? I'm not an animal. I'm more than the flesh I wear. I don't want this.”

John stood up and walked right up to Sherlock to sneer in his face, “In fact you do want this or at least your body does because you look mostly erect right now. Don't think for a second that just because I could do it that I'm going to force myself on you. All I'm going to say Sherlock Holmes is that I, John Watson, am very interesting in making love to you. Not fucking, not sex, love making. Whenever you decide that giving into your baser urges is okay then you toddle up to my place, you know where it is.”

John left Sherlock standing there, brushing past the taller man as he went up to his room. John was pleased to note that by the time John had finished talking Sherlock had been entirely erect. So. The detective liked it when John was assertive. Interesting but not useful at the moment. John wasn't going to force Sherlock into a proper relationship with him. Sherlock would have to ask. The game was on.

Sherlock could be an annoying prick. He was good at it. He was known for it. When John had first moved in there had been a long series very character building experiences with Sherlock that had taken the doctor's breath away. Then he'd gotten used to it. John was a tough man and was almost impossible to break. Not only was he a doctor which required nerves but he had been a soldier as well. To make him even stronger he had started out as a little brother who eventually graduated to being the little brother of an abusive drunkard. John could roll with the punches and dust himself off like nothing happened.

Sherlock tried. He really tried to resist John. Sherlock was rude to the doctor. He was careless with John's possessions, even worse than before but for some reason it no longer aggravated the man. Sherlock tried harder to drive John away but it just wasn't working! One day while John was showering Sherlock had deliberately poured the tarry remains of an experiment into John's laundry basket, staining everything. John hadn't said a word. He had marched himself into Sherlock's room and come out dressed in a clean pair of Sherlock's pants and one of Sherlock's teeshirts. 

John was wider in the chest than Sherlock so the shirt had strained itself to contain what Sherlock now very clearly saw were hard flat muscles and amazingly broad shoulders. John had a gentle roundness to his belly but everywhere else was fit and tight. Blood roared through Sherlock's body and fought over where to pool, his brain losing spectacularly to his cock. John never looked at Sherlock, he'd just gone back up to his room quietly to get a robe and went to do his laundry. Sherlock had to lock himself in his bedroom and for the first time since he was a young teenager he could not will his erection away. He refused to capitulate and spent the night filled with frustrated lust. John's room was just a few steps away.

John was seducing Sherlock in more than one way. Sherlock was grateful the doctor was smart enough not to attempt flowers and chocolates. He wasn't very certain about the method John did choose because it seemed to be working. Sherlock was visibly weakening.

John pandered shamelessly to Sherlock's ego. He wrote about their cases on his blog in such a way that John seemed to barely play a part outside of being an observer. Sherlock held center stage, his brilliant deductions and even his abrasive wit being gobbled up by the masses. Sherlock was fairly certain John had noticed how often Sherlock now checked their page to read the very flattering comments or note the amazing increase in the hit count. John never mentioned his posts and Sherlock never brought it up.

Sherlock HATED how John made him feel. That first day when they'd met at the morgue had left Sherlock breathless and panting. He'd disguised it as interest in the case he had been working on but by the time the introductions were done Sherlock was a lost cause. John had been like the rising sun, that first shared smile between them sealing Sherlock's fate irrevocably. Junkie that he was he could not resist the temptation of having temptation right under his nose and had invited John to move in with him on the spot. Now John was a bad habit, worse than cocaine or heroine. Sherlock had shaken those but he was 98% positive he would never get over John.

Sherlock NEEDED John and he hated that too. Sherlock needed to know his best friend would take care of him and their home, leaving Sherlock free to do what he did best which was solve cases. The cases. Sherlock NEEDED John for the cases now as well. John was better than cocaine or heroine. He both slowed Sherlock's mind and sped it up. John confused the issues and made them clear again. Sherlock was a junkie so becoming addicted to a new drug shouldn't have surprised him, but it did.

Sherlock needed John. It was irrefutable. Sherlock's transport was a traitor. It was reacting in all sorts of undesirable ways. Sherlock looked up his symptoms. It was dreadful. No matter how he phrased his searches it was obvious time and again that he was physically aroused by John. Specifically John. No one else. It was maddening. Sherlock felt so unbalanced, all his years of denying the needs of his body had been for nothing. He had feelings now! Now it mattered to him if John was happy or not, if John was content or not and right now John was neither happy nor content.

Sherlock was changing. Every single day saw some part of his subconscious betray him. He was being polite to strangers! Sherlock was making an effort to be pleasant to people they worked with because it made John smile and that made Sherlock happy then furious. Something had to be done. Sherlock waited until it was very late before he reluctantly walked up that final flight of stairs and pushed open John's door like he was going to his death. “No one can know.” he said flatly.

“Who would I tell?” replied John who seemed entirely unsurprised that Sherlock had come to him. The doctor must have known Sherlock's weakness would betray him eventually. Sherlock never had a chance in hell of resisting John. John hadn't needed to do a thing. He'd just made his offer and left it there. Sherlock was an addict and John was the drug.

“This side of our lives NEVER appears on your blog. As far as the world is concerned you are still hopeful bachelor John Watson and I am still Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.” His entire image was based on the premise the he had no heart. In a way it was still true. He had given it to John after all, no matter how unwilling he had been. John just made room and lifted the corner of his blanket up. Sherlock cursed the universe in general for how eagerly he crossed the floor to lay beside the smaller man.

John's body was deliciously warm and he held Sherlock to him, allowing Sherlock to rest his head on the pillow right beside his. “It's no one's business but ours. We have to set some ground rules though. If you seriously want to keep this under wraps we have to look like nothing has changed.” Sherlock grew tense and almost left the bed.

“You want to keep sleeping with strangers.” hissed the dark haired man. He tried to wrench his arm free when John clamped his small but startlingly strong hand around Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock couldn't move away.

“No I really don't. If you want to pretend things haven't changed between us I need to keep dating. I don't date much but I can't stop completely, not unless you want to go public.” Sherlock shrank back. Have everyone know what a failure Sherlock was, how he'd given in so easily and bowed down to the hormonal drives that had brought him to almost beg his flatmate for sex?

“Fine. Date. The second you sleep with someone else it's over between us that very night. Don't even try to hide it because I will know.” Sherlock was dead serious. John laughed.

“I'm sure you'd throw in ruining her life and the life of her best friend for good measure. Don't worry Sherlock, if we start being intimate with one another I would never betray you. I'm not that kind of person.” That was just it. Sherlock knew John was naturally monogamous. He preferred to focus on his partner. He was good at it which is one of the reasons they were even having this wretched conversation. Sherlock imagined the care and tenderness John would lavish on a prospective female date and backpedaled yet again. 

“The whole point of me sleeping with you was for you NOT to date. I may as well go back to my room.” That was an escape clause if Sherlock had ever heard one. Sherlock was instantly relieved, moving forward with the whole not-sleeping-with-John-at-all plan, his transport be damned. John still wanted to date women.

John's hand on his arm stopped him, “You're right and I agree. It would feel like cheating to me so I'd rather not. I'll stop dating entirely but I still won't tell anyone, not until you decide. Fair?”

Damn you John! “Fair.” whispered Sherlock who felt even more doomed than he had before. This was the worst decision he had ever made. He had spent his entire life schooling himself to ignore the reactions of his flesh, to ignore cold and heat, pain and pleasure, leaving only the purity of his mind behind. “Do whatever you want.” Sherlock hated everything that happened next because it was glorious. John!

John may have never been with a man before but he was a bold adventurer who shied at nothing. If he was unfamiliar with how to please a man's body then he still knew plenty of ways to please a woman's and many of those skills transferred very pleasantly. Sherlock was completely undone in the most horrible of ways. His mind clouded just as he had feared. His thoughts slowed and almost stopped as his flesh took over. Sherlock found himself making strange noises, his body reacting mindlessly and reaching out for John. All rational thought ceased and it was terrifying.

John made everything stop. The fear, the terror, the maddening cacophony of life that kept Sherlock edgy all the time. He had straddled Sherlock's body and dragged the detective's hands all over himself. John's flesh was rocky everywhere, the cock between his thighs heavy and fat but mercifully not outrageously long. Sherlock shuddered with lust and fear as his palm grazed over it at John's direction. John felt familiar and comfortable. Sherlock felt like everything about John had been made specifically for him, all his small compact parts fitting perfectly into Sherlock's long fingered hands. Eventually all of the fear faded away and left Sherlock laying spread wide open beneath John. They were kissing.

John hadn't penetrated Sherlock with anything more dangerous than his tongue. At this point though Sherlock would have been willing to bear witness that John's tongue needed to be registered as a deadly weapon because it was killing Sherlock. The way John kissed! The doctor had run those hungry lips all over Sherlock's body, getting acquainted with his new toy. Sherlock didn't understand. He knew the basics of intercourse and so far John had not tried to enter him. What was John doing?

Right now he was sucking on Sherlock's earlobe. Sherlock's whole body shivered and tensed. John mouthed his way over Sherlock's face and even though it left a drying trail of dampness behind Sherlock had never felt such tender waves of feeling rise in his chest. He felt tight, warm and oddly safe. He was with John and even if Sherlock didn't know what was going on John did and John wouldn't hurt him. Slowly Sherlock relaxed and began to reluctantly respond.

John didn't rush Sherlock but he didn't stop either. The soldier conquered Sherlock one piece at a time until he had reduced the detective to a trembling wreck of blushing cheeks and shuddering gasps. Sherlock had never experienced the kinds of sensations John was pulling from him. He had cast his mind back to the early days of his manhood when he had first begun his quest to override the urges of his libido. He had sworn then to never give in but now....now John was destroying everything Sherlock had hoped to gain by that denial. Sherlock moaned in defeat and bliss.

Sherlock feared the pain that was coming. He knew that having John inside him would hurt. The orifice in question was not meant for this activity and no matter how you looked at it one was clearly larger than the other. Pain was inevitable. Resigning himself Sherlock lay back and let his knees spread a little wider. If it got too bad he would hide in his mind palace until John was done.

It wasn't awful. It was startling, certainly, but when John's small blunt fingers began to toy and tease Sherlock's entrance open Sherlock threw his head back and moaned softly. It was actually rather exquisite. John gently worked one finger after another into Sherlock, their bodies already rocking together. Sherlock hadn't been brave enough to do more than lay there and let John do as he pleased. He could feel John's arousal pressed against his thigh. Daring greatly Sherlock shifted his leg and allowed John to rut against it. John moaned.

It all got hazy again. Before Sherlock could absorb the progression John was kneeling between his thighs, the blunt head of his cock already breeching Sherlock's body. Fear shot through him and he struggled. John pulled back instantly and soothed the younger man, “We don't have to. You say no and this all stops. At any time Sherlock, you understand? You say no and I swear I'll stop.”

Sherlock was terrified. He wanted John so badly he could taste it. He wanted John to plunge recklessly into his body and simply take him. Sherlock was appalled at how very willing he was to hand himself entirely over to the small ex-army doctor. It was intolerable. “Do it.”

John did. Without hesitation John resumed claiming Sherlock. He was deliberate and gentle. John's preparations had been more than adequate so Sherlock was very surprised when he found John fully seated inside him, pressing deliciously against his prostate but unmoving. Sherlock's body ached but not with pain. There was something else, some sort of something that demanded satisfaction. John held still for only a moment longer and then began to undulate.

Sherlock lost control. His cries were unrestrained. The tall man found himself clutching ardently at John's body, his mouth hungry for John's mouth as that marvelous man used his surgeon's hands to inflame the detective further. The things Sherlock said! He swore he loved John, that he wanted only him. He begged for more and promised everything in return. John remained silent except for his moans and continued to make love to Sherlock until all words went away and there was nothing but sensation. When Sherlock thought he would become entirely unhinged John began to move swift and sure. His fingers wrapped around Sherlock's long slim cock and stroked him expertly.

Orgasm was nothing like Sherlock had read about in the various books and manuals he had examined. He'd had night emissions when he was a young man but had never been awake to take note of the feelings produced. He'd never masturbated, never once gave serious thought to doing anything to his body that would encourage it to do this. Sherlock's entire body coiled together. He felt like he was going to ignite into flame. The overload of pleasure that shook him shut Sherlock's mind down completely. Sherlock found himself making even more embarrassing noises but John almost crooned along, encouraging Sherlock to let go, to come for him. The soldier rode Sherlock all the way through it, not taking his pleasure until Sherlock was completely satiated. Watching John come was the most astounding experience, nearly as devastating as the orgasm itself.

Afterward John had cleaned them both up with the tissues by his bed, covered Sherlock with his blanket and cuddled the detective close, stroking Sherlock's back and shoulders tenderly. The doctor hadn't said a thing and Sherlock realized that John had in fact repeated everything Sherlock had babbled to him, expressing every devotion with his body instead of his words. John loved him and only John had the power to undo Sherlock to the point where Sherlock's rational mind ceased functioning.

The next morning Sherlock showered, dressed and fled the flat entirely. He couldn't look at John. He knew he had promised to let John do as he pleased with him in bed but Sherlock didn't know how amazing it would be. It was worse than he could have imagined, worse than the first time he realized he was really addicted to drugs, that they weren't just an aid to thinking anymore. He felt sick, like he was drowning and burning at the same time. If he stayed he'd be a slave to his flesh, trapped forever in a maelstrom of mindless reactionary hormones. It couldn't happen again. Sherlock had made a grave miscalculation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Sherlock. Poor John! These guys need to get things sorted!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is having a crisis. How will he manage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been deliberately vague about the casework. I had considered working them in but decided to focus on the heart rather than the head of the matter.

Sherlock stood in the alley, his hand buried in his coat pocket yet again. When he noticed he pulled his hand out and glared at it like it had betrayed him on purpose. Sherlock had been here for a couple of hours already, simply observing a suspect. John was at work tonight. Sherlock felt jittery standing there by himself. Without noticing his hand crept back into the pocket of his Belstaff. The faint metallic jangling made him look down again.

Frowning Sherlock pulled his hand out and glared again. It was all so distracting. In his palm were John's dogtags. They were unharmed except for the wear marks. It said a lot to Sherlock that John would assume Sherlock was capable of destroying something as precious as his tags. The pair Sherlock had cut in half were knock-offs he'd picked up at a street-market. Using the very first opportunity that came his way after their fight Sherlock had gone right to John's room and stolen his untouched tags. They lived in his coat pocket now and Sherlock found he was comforting himself by handling them. Stuffing them back into his pocket Sherlock resumed his observations.

His thoughts wandered. The suspect he was waiting for wasn't home yet. Sherlock was thinking of John once more. It was all so frustrating. John had ruined him. Tonight's stakeout had been a bad idea. Now Sherlock had nothing to occupy him but going over all his motivations for running away, for remembering how John had made him feel, how Sherlock still felt the chill of fear when he recalled how he had been unable to think and only responded to John's caresses instinctively.

The orgasm. That had been entirely unexpected. Sherlock had known that the human body was capable of experiencing pleasure. It had whole parts designed to do nothing but feel pleasure but Sherlock had vowed early in his life to never give into his animal side. To have denied himself that incomparable delight, that shivering peak of ecstasy that had lingered for so long Sherlock had wanted to weep. He was very aware of the depth of John's feelings for him and that terrified Sherlock nearly as much as being switched off.

How was he supposed to deal with this? John would want sex again. That was the deal. Sherlock slept with John and John stayed. Sherlock couldn't sleep with John again. It was too much, the experience was too much and Sherlock could not let himself become a victim of yet another addiction.

It was too late. Even now Sherlock's body twitched and grew warm as he helplessly recalled each kiss, each lingering touch. John had worshiped Sherlock last night, had brought him effortlessly to the very heights of ecstasy without a hint of pain. He'd made the entire experience rich and beautiful and Sherlock wanted to run as far as he could from John.

It was days before Sherlock saw John again. The detective kept himself busy outside of the flat. He was on a new case and he chased the clues with a fervor he'd never experienced before. Sherlock was falling to pieces and he grasped at every familiar thing around him, desperate for stability. He only went back to Baker Street when he was sure John was at work, catching small naps or playing his violin. There was something bigger going on in London and Sherlock could not afford to be distracted by John. This had all been a mistake.

Then John got kidnapped and Sherlock next saw his lover strapped to an explosive vest. When John first began to speak Sherlock's heart tried to shatter but then he saw John's face, his beautiful loving face and the warning written on it. All the pieces fell together and now Sherlock was paralyzed with fear. All his worst nightmares came to life when he heard that mocking lilt from the small suited man now taunting him with John's life. This was the weakness Sherlock had tried so vainly to avoid.

After it was all over and they were back in 221 B John simply went to bed. Sherlock sat on the sofa and tried to organize his thoughts, tried to put together the clues he knew Moriarty had scattered provocatively everywhere. He couldn't do it. It was too tangled, too complex and all Sherlock could do was think of John. Almost weeping with frustration Sherlock ran up the stairs and pushed open John's door.

The doctor was curled up on the bed, his back to Sherlock. His hands were tangled in his short hair and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. A panic attack. Sherlock hated himself for not having noticed John's reaction. He was a war vet! Sherlock should have anticipated this. Not wasting another moment Sherlock lay himself behind John and wrapped his arms around the doctor. “I won't let him hurt you John. I love you. I can't lose you. I promise John. I'll stop him somehow.”

John's voice was harsh and broken, “You won't lose me. You'll leave me. For him. He's perfect for you and you know it. He wants you and I know you want him. He's smart. Devious. Interesting. You won't want to stop him, not really. He wants you with him and eventually you'll go. You barely wanted me before this. I haven't a chance.” John was rigid with misery and Sherlock felt like all the breath had been knocked out of him.

John wasn't exactly wrong. Sherlock had no intention of leaving John for Moriarty but the man did play a fascinating game. No matter how Sherlock might like to deny it he had become as addicted to the game with Moriarty as he had with the presence of John. Still, no matter how provocative the game that's all it was, a game. John wasn't a game. John was life. He was Sherlock's life. His heart.

“You're the only one who's ever had a chance John. Not Moriarty.” John turned in Sherlock's arms and looked at him. The small man looked bitter.

“I'm replaceable for you Sherlock. You always lose interest in me whenever something better comes along. We made love and you bolted. I haven't heard from you in days. That mad fucker picked me up like I was trash, used me like a giant valentine to catch your eye and it worked. You didn't come for me, you came for him. First that Woman and now Him. All of you, you use me and use me and use me and I let it happen.” Sherlock felt sick. John wasn't wrong once again. John seemed to have a giant target on his back and every sociopath in the Greater London region seemed to see it, Sherlock included.

“You are NOT trash John! I don't want them. I want you. I want to keep you safe. I care for you John. I told you I'm not very good at relationships so I simply don't know how to react. It was too much for me and I couldn't deal with it.” Honesty was probably the best way to go with John. He was a straight-forward man and respected directness. “I'm sorry I ran.”

John softened visibly. He sighed and lay on his back to stare at the ceiling. “He won't give up. Moriarty wants you. He's custom made for you Sherlock. You won't be able to help yourself.”

“I'm not a child John. I can deal with Moriarty.” Sherlock was already formulating contingency plans to deal with the consulting criminal. John heaved a sad sigh and turned his back on Sherlock. “I can.” he insisted.

John just shrugged and wouldn't look at Sherlock. “You can but you won't. He knows just how to play you, play both of us. He said it right out, I'm your pet, a game piece, nothing but a mark on the scorecard. Even if I made you promise to not play he'd make you somehow. We made a mistake. I never should have lost control of myself. You didn't want it and now I've pretty much fucked up everything.”

John was always so quick to blame himself. Sherlock's brow furrowed with annoyance and a different kind of fear, “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that you don't want a physical relationship with me and I made you. I'm saying that I've already been replaced by Moriarty and whatever this is between us is not only a bad idea but over. I'm saying that I can't keep letting everyone use me all the time because it is in every sense of the phrase, killing me.” Sherlock's heart splintered just a little more but that stubbornness that drove him constantly rose and fought back.

“I would never have taken you for a coward John.” spat Sherlock. John could NOT end this. Sherlock realized right then and there that terror or not he needed John with him. John made the world right and good, he made every single day have purpose and even if Sherlock was so scared that his hands shook he could not lose John.

John misunderstood. “Coward? I am NOT a coward! You're the coward Sherlock. You run away every time things get to be too much or if you can't be arsed to deal with the shit you leave behind. Maybe this time it's my turn to run. You say you love me but clearly I repel you. You've said repeatedly how you don't want to give in to your physical side but we did and now I want more. Even if you let me I'm going to know you're only doing it to keep me from leaving and that makes me sick inside. I'm as good as a rapist now Sherlock. Call me a coward if you want but if you're going to hate me, at least hate me for the right reasons.”

“Is that why you want to end it? For some misplaced morality about my consent? I wanted you John. I asked to be with you. We were very clear about what was going to happen. I told you this wasn't about you. It's about me! I don't know what I'm doing. I've never had sex before. I'd never even kissed someone before and that night....that night scared me in a way I'd never experienced before John. It was too much, I had no way to handle how you made me feel. I have no basis of comparison and when...when you made me come it was like my mind shut down and I was terrified.”

John was silent for a long time. His face was serious as he looked at Sherlock. Suddenly he pulled Sherlock tight against him, somehow getting Sherlock's head on his chest to hug him tight. “I'm sorry Sherlock. I should have thought of that. I'm sorry. We should have started slow, built up to it. Instead you got the entire experience in one hot handful. Of course you needed to run. I'm sorry.”

How had John's thoughts twisted in such a dark direction? Rapist? John? John was the sweetest, tenderest, most caring and concerned man in the world. Sherlock felt this would be a good time to kiss John so he did. “Promise you won't leave me John.”

“I won't. I promise. Even if it kills me I'll never leave.” Sherlock shivered. Their lives were extraordinarily dangerous. Sherlock suddenly realized that instead of agonizing over his moments with John he should be cherishing them. Time suddenly felt short so Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held him as tightly as he could, burying his face in John's short hair to inhale his good clean smell. John's arms wrapped just as tight around Sherlock's waist and the doctor tucked himself under Sherlock's chin. They leaned into one another and just held on for several minutes.

“You needed a new coat. I didn't think it would take you so long to use my card to get another one.” John pulled away and stared at Sherlock. Sherlock heaved a shuddering sigh and explained, “I cut up your old coat because it's been repaired so many times it's not even the same coat it started out to be. You needed a new one because it's getting colder out. I gave you my card nearly every day if you recall. I thought you'd get angrier and get yourself a coat. I had to cut your socks up for the same reason. It took you forever. The shoes were just collateral damage. I picked the pair I liked the least.”

“Why the hell didn't you just say so?” demanded John. He had been angry about that coat for a long time. His new coat was very nice. He'd gotten it at one of the shops Sherlock frequented. He hadn't looked at the price, figuring Sherlock was a very generous friend.

“You're a proud man John Watson. I couldn't just offer to buy you a coat and I've kept you away from work so much you don't have enough to buy a proper one. I did what I had to to get you the coat you needed.” John was very touched. That was actually very lovely. Sherlock was absolutely correct. John would choose death from hypothermia before he would have allowed Sherlock to buy him a coat outright. “You ate my dumplings though. That hurt. I was very hungry.”

John just buried his face in Sherlock's neck and laughed. “Oh god! Why is nothing ever simple between us?”

Sherlock shrugged and pushed John back a few inches so he was laying on his side. Without blinking he reached out and draped John's dogtags around his neck. John looked down at them, completely surprised. “I would never have damaged them John. They mean too much. I was working on a case where the victim's tags were cut in a similar fashion. I bought the ones I cut. I never even once considered using yours.”

John looked back up at Sherlock after he stared at his tags for a long time. John's eyes were serious and his mouth was set in a straight line. His voice was very thick when he thanked Sherlock. Sherlock reached out again and slipped the tags under John's shirt so they would rest against his skin. “I'm sorry I accused you. I'm sorry I hit you.”

“Well I can see how you would feel I deserved it. I can't even imagine what buying you a Christmas present is going to be like.” Both men started laughing and held each other tight again. “I am sorry John, for all the harm I've done you. Maybe if you help me I can learn to be a little less brilliant at being stupid.”

“I don't know. I'm not as smart as you. That might be difficult for me.” they laughed at each other once again, this time sharing a sweet soft kiss. “We'll go slow from now on.” Sherlock nodded and let John lay him back. John simply kissed Sherlock. Some were small and sweet, others were hot and searing. John didn't allow it to go further, he just showed Sherlock a multitude of ways to savor one another. It was delicious and romantic. Sherlock felt both electrified and calmed by the time John walked him to his own room and bade him goodnight, another gentle kiss pressed chastely to Sherlock's now tender mouth. Maybe it wasn't so awful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have reconciled their differences and work together to make a life for one another. Of course, there are clouds on even the brightest horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FoolishAngel1987, I hope this is everything you hoped for

They didn't have a lot of free time but when they did John taught Sherlock patiently about love. The doctor introduced the detective to the ways and means of lovemaking with painstaking slowness, building up to the act gradually, allowing Sherlock to adjust to each new piece of knowledge.

Sherlock was learning to manage what basically amounted to mutual masturbation coupled with the occasional blow job by John. John still overwhelmed him but now there was a wondrous after effect. Clarity. Sherlock was discovering that yes, during the peak of that voluptuousness his mind did indeed shut down but now that he had gotten over the worst of his fear he was left with an intense sense of awareness, as if lovemaking tweaked his senses and made his mind operate just a little better. To test this theory he asked if John would mind taking the next step.

“Not penetrative sex, but something more than we've been doing.” asked Sherlock seriously. John thought about it for a minute then nodded. Relieved Sherlock sat at the kitchen table where John was serving up breakfast. “Whenever you'd like.”

“I'd like to eat breakfast and relax for a bit. This is the first full day off I've had in ages.” John had made a full English for both of them. To keep John happy Sherlock gave real effort as he ate nearly half of the generous portions. John cleaned up and they went for a stroll in the park afterward. Sherlock wanted to hold John's hand but his own rules prevented him. Sherlock debated about discarding those rules and decided he wasn't ready. To compromise he shuffled closer to John and walked next to him. John didn't mind.

By the time they made it back to 221 B both men were pleasantly relaxed. John made tea and they sat on the sofa next to one another. John had been teaching Sherlock about cuddling so Sherlock leaned next to John and snaked his long arm around the soldier's shoulders as they sipped tea beside one another. John was smiling and that made Sherlock feel good. Happy.

Sherlock put his cup down and kissed John's cheek when he sat back. John sipped his tea for a moment longer then set it down beside Sherlock's. Sherlock wasted no time and began to kiss John softly, allowing the doctor to press him slowly back onto the cushions until Sherlock was entirely prone. The kisses had heated up very quickly and Sherlock felt the now familiar frisson of fear as his body began to respond. John soothed him, “It's okay to let go Sherlock. You need it. Think of it like a reboot. We're shutting you down and starting you back up again.”

That actually helped a lot. Sherlock relaxed again and allowed John to continue shutting him down one system at a time until all Sherlock knew was the roil of pleasure that John had roused in him. Somehow or other John had nudged their shirts open, tugged Sherlock's pants around his hips. Standing for a few seconds John pushed his clothes off before straddling Sherlock once again.

John took Sherlock's hand and raised it to his mouth. His tongue was hot and wet as he licked a strip across Sherlock's palm. The smaller man used Sherlock's hand to grasp both their cocks, pressing them together. Sherlock moaned low in his chest. This felt gorgeous, gentle, loving. John began to rock his hips slowly, their cocks sliding between Sherlock's long fingers deliciously. Both men groaned.

Sherlock was enjoying this. The friction of John's cock directly against his was sublime. His hand guided the speed and ferocity of their movements. When it was too much he slowed down, when he couldn't hold back he sped up. John let him do as he liked and Sherlock forgot about being afraid.

Sherlock loved the feel of John's cock in his hand. He loved the way the weight of it fit perfectly against his. He loved the feel of John's saliva as it mixed with their pre-cum to coat Sherlock's palm with slick. Sherlock loved how safe he felt with John arched over him, his sweet face flushed deeply, his gentle blue eyes filled with fiery passion. Sherlock twisted his hand a few times and watched the rapture take John away first. The hot pulse of come on Sherlock's hand was the last bit too much for Sherlock to deal with and he came. Sherlock felt his back arch, heard his throat cry loudly as his come jetted across his belly to mix with John's.

There was silence in Sherlock's mind and in the flat. The sounds of the two men breathing hard eventually penetrated the gentle haze that had hummed through Sherlock as his body was washed in the slowly receding pleasure of their act. Sherlock wasn't overwhelmed this time. This time he was just very relaxed, almost humming with contentment as John's limp body draped over his. Weakly Sherlock put his arms around John and hung on with an exhausted sigh.

Minutes went by and Sherlock's mind reignited. All his insecurities seemed to take a back seat as he breathed in the smell of John and sex. Eventually though the doctor sat back and grimaced at the mess now coating both their stomachs. “We need a bit of a wash.” Sherlock smiled and let John draw him to the bathroom where he cleaned them both up. “It's early yet. What do you want to do today?”

Sherlock's mind was like crystal. He was running at peak efficiency so with some internal debate Sherlock decided he needed to get some research done on a series of cases he was working on. John amiably agreed to do the legwork once again while Sherlock set up his experiments in the kitchen. Later in the afternoon when John eventually returned with everything Sherlock needed the detective spent several hours setting up everything. When he was done he stepped back. He was satisfied with the amount of progress he had made in a single day. Sherlock noticed something near his hand. A wrapped sandwich was sitting beside him on the kitchen table and John was sleeping awkwardly in his chair, his paperback on the floor where it had fallen from his hand.

Sherlock retreated to his bedroom and remade his bed quickly. He shook out all the bit of paper that had accumulated and stacked the reference books onto the dresser. Rooting around his wardrobe he came across fresh pillowcases and changed everything he could. Dimming his reading light as much as possible Sherlock stripped down to his pants and pulled on a robe.

Sherlock cradled John as gently as he could. It seemed to Sherlock that John didn't weigh much. He bore the sleeping man tenderly to his room and tugged off his clothes delicately. Shifting him gingerly Sherlock got John on the far side of the bed near the wall before removing his robe and climbing into bed with him. Sherlock wasn't sleepy. He just wanted to be near John, have him close enough to smell, to luxuriate in the heat of him. Maneuvering himself carefully Sherlock cuddled the small man close, holding him securely to him. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought about the disturbing cases he was working on while his experiments bubbled and fermented at their own speeds. Sherlock could feel John seeping into him, spreading comfort and warmth and making it easy for Sherlock to focus on the clues he needed to understand. John was the perfect drug. There was no downside to loving John. There was a downside for John loving Sherlock though. John was in danger. Soon, very soon Sherlock needed to do something. He didn't want to. He spent all his time feverishly trying to plan for it, trying to find a way around it but so far nothing could change it. Sherlock needed John more than ever so he held his doctor as tight as he could and soundlessly whispered apologies into John's ear.

For John the day had passed like a miraculous dream. It was everything he could have wished for. Sherlock's fear of losing control was slowly ebbing away if the session on the sofa was anything to judge by. Even going out and running Sherlock's errands made John happy. This was their life, this is what they did together regardless. Sherlock solved cases and John helped. Now along with their casework they also had one another and the confines of 221 B Baker Street had never been so loving.

John was grateful that Sherlock was no different. He had feared the change in the strange younger man. He loved Sherlock's eccentricities and difficult personality. It made him who he was, undefinable and spectacular. Sherlock had gotten lost in his research as only he could, not registering the passage of time or John's presence. John smiled in the background as he putted around enjoying his day. He toyed with the idea of sneaking in small caresses but decided that disturbing Sherlock while he was tranquil wasn't worth half a second of grabbing his lush behind. Taking Sherlock's permission as read John instead indulged himself with some very detailed staring. Sherlock never flinched and John just grinned.

Sherlock didn't notice John making himself dinner. He didn't notice John washing up and he didn't notice John making him a sandwich. John didn't think it was likely Sherlock would eat but the chances were greater if there was something ready. He wrapped it up tight and left it next to his lover without saying a word.

John had only meant to read the last bit of his chapter before taking himself off to bed. He was extremely pleased to wake up late in the night wrapped up in Sherlock's arms. The detective was fast asleep. Sherlock had a subsonic snore. John couldn't really hear it but now with Sherlock glued to his back he felt the vibrations as his lover rumbled with every breath. John was captivated and lay there for the longest times simply luxuriating in the intimacy of the moment.

Sherlock had managed to wrap himself around John tightly. His long arms and legs had worked themselves between and around John's body and limbs until they were locked together. John shifted the tiniest bit to ease the angle on his bad shoulder and Sherlock's hand came up reflexively, gripping and massaging John even as he slept. John's eyes teared up. Sherlock really loved him. A few moments later the hand drooped and relaxed again. 

Sherlock's deep rumble faded slowly and for a minute there was silence. “Jawn.” Sherlock's voice was sleepy and soft. John's eyes pricked with tears again at how Sherlock had whispered his name. The sound was drawn out and tender, a beautiful sound when uttered by Sherlock. “Love you Jawn.” John felt the rumbles begin again. Sherlock had only surfaced from sleep long enough to utter his devotions before slipping away again. The tears trickled down John's face as he lay there and felt treasured.

It seemed then that time had taken on a difference pace. It moved too fast, far too fast. Cases built up one after the other until it seemed to John that he was either working at the clinic or chasing down streets. Quieter moments were spent doing errands for Sherlock. Private moments where the two of them could hold each other close were rare and special. Once Sherlock had even embraced John just outside the morgue before a visit with Molly. No one had been around so the detective had just stooped down and held John for the briefest moment, hugging him tight before releasing him.

They never gave anyone proof positive that anything between them was anything other than friendship. Sherlock's behavior was as atrocious as ever when they were out, he insulted people at will and solved cases with varying degrees of disdain depending on their complexity. Wherever he went John was not far behind, smoothing ruffled feelings and distracting authority figures from noticing what Sherlock was generally up to which was stepping on their toes while solving their crimes. They worked seamlessly together.

John was happy for a long time. As far as he could see life had reached a state of continuing perfection. It was good to be busy, good to have time filled with purpose. He loved their life. It was exciting and risky, filled with one adrenalin rushed moment after another. Sherlock was brilliant but they seldom got paid but John didn't mind working hard at the clinic to make ends meet for both of them.

John noticed that Sherlock was distracted with increasing frequency. He tried to accept it. John knew Sherlock better than anyone so even when he didn't want to say it even in his head he knew he was losing Sherlock to James Moriarty. All he could do was try to remind Sherlock that he was there and show Sherlock how much he loved him in as many ways as he could manage.

John tried. He tried to keep Sherlock happy and involved with him. It was so hard when the games Moriarty set up were costing innocent lives. Then John ripped himself to pieces loving and hating Sherlock for being engrossed. Only Sherlock could stop Moriarty. People needed his focus. The sound of the villain's high sweet voice always made John's skin crawl so he cheered each and every time Sherlock thwarted the consulting criminal's plans. When they were alone they'd always celebrate together to mark the occasion.

One night lingered in John's memory. They were waiting to hear back from the lab, waiting to hear from Lestrade, just waiting. They were sitting in the flat, dinner done and on the sofa sipping their tea. Sherlock had taken John's hand and kissed the back of it, the courtly gesture making John's heart thump a little harder. “Take me to bed John.” he'd asked.

There Sherlock had encouraged John to make love properly with him for the second time, slowly, sweetly. Both men kissed and strained together. John didn't want to trigger Sherlock's fear, didn't want to overwhelm him so once again John surrendered control to his lover and allowed Sherlock to prepare him gently. Sherlock was nervous but oh so careful. As he slipped himself inside the doctor both men groaned and writhed. John had never been taken like this before but heat of Sherlock's body against his back felt right and perfect just as he had dreamed it would. Sherlock's chin hooked over John's shoulder as the tall lean man grew wilder and more impassioned. John found himself rearing back, tugging Sherlock's arms tight around him to hold John as close as possible. Sherlock had taken John in hand at the last possible moment and together they gasped their way through their orgasm.

Sherlock had kissed John's shoulders after and caressed the doctor all over before allowing himself to pull away. “Thank you John.” he'd whispered into John's ear. John knew Sherlock was thanking him for allowing him control, for John giving himself to Sherlock for the first time, for trusting Sherlock to stay afterward. He did.

Sherlock always told John where he was now. Even when he didn't make it home for days at a time John could depend on receiving one or two brief texts at least confirming that Sherlock was alive and thinking of John. The detective was busy. They worked harder than ever. They saved lives. Sometimes they lost them. The duo nearly always got the bad guy and on those rare nights when the baddie got away they could comfort themselves together and plan how to do things differently next time. Their relationship wasn't perfect, it was a long way from perfect but both men agreed that it was still the best thing in their lives.

Sherlock moved in a lot of dark circles, his homeless network required tending and no one in it wanted to be seen with the pair of them so John understood when Sherlock needed to do business alone. Whenever Sherlock disappeared for a long period of time John could rely on waking up with an armful of consulting detective when he came home. “I'm glad you wait for me John. It makes it easier, knowing you're waiting for me.” Sherlock would say if John woke up while he was sliding into bed with him.

“I'll always wait Sherlock. You can count on it.” Sherlock would smile and kiss John tenderly. They would spoon up together and John would let himself fall asleep counting Sherlock's heartbeats.

He did get worried that it seemed that Sherlock was getting more distracted. Moriarty was working harder than ever to attract Sherlock and though John hated it he let Sherlock run free. He was trapped. Sherlock was needed. John could not hold him back. The times between intimacies was slowly growing larger and larger. John worked a lot. Their bills needed to be paid, rent seemed due every week and their expenses piled up. Sherlock paid for things when he remembered which was seldom so it fell to John to keep up things. Still it left Sherlock solving cases on his own while John was elsewhere and both of them suffered for the separation. 

“I won't let him win John. Too much is at stake.” Sherlock had finally said. There was nothing the soldier could do but nod and try not to show Sherlock just how afraid he really was. Moriarty's lure was powerful. John could feel the pull between the two men. It was a celestial dance of two magnificent minds that grappled and struck out at one another. John was an ant in the grass and it was just a matter of time before a titan step crushed him.

John got a call one day about Mrs Hudson. In a panic John had rushed home only to discover it had been a ruse. Racing back to St Bart's John felt his entire world freeze as he saw a familiar figure standing on the edge of the roof. “It's just a trick.” said Sherlock and then John was screaming. He shouted and ran, his eyes locked on that plummeting body, the voice he heard unrecognizable as the sheer horror of what was happening in front of John unfolded. Sherlock! His Sherlock!

John had fractured memories of what happened after that. He had been struck, his head hit the roadway before he could make it to Sherlock's body. Sherlock had never seemed so human. Those vacant eyes, the pulse that refused to flutter under John's fingers, the stench of the blood. John might have been screaming again. He remembered to keep their secret, John mustn't tell anyone. No one could know. “He's my friend! He's my friend!” he cried instead.

John's memories were no better than a slide show of still images for a long time after that. He vaguely remembered screaming at Molly who wouldn't let him look at Sherlock's body after she received it. John vaguely recalled being restrained by someone, Anderson maybe? Why would he be there? Someone brought him home. Lestrade? Mycroft? Maybe John had made it home on his own. The only thing that was unchanged as John faded in and out was the jagged gash of pain where his heart used to be.

Moriarty was dead but John didn't care. Sherlock was gone. There had been no warning, no time to prepare himself. His brilliant, amazing, completely insane lover was gone. For whatever reason Sherlock had deliberately stepped off that building and fallen to his death right in front of John's disbelieving eyes. Never again would John taste those lips. He'd never wake up again to feel Sherlock snoring against him, never find his jumpers being pressed into service as soaker pads, never have to deal with a rotting limb in the vegetable crisper, never smell the trace of cigarettes on Sherlock's breath, just never anything ever again.

John shattered into a million pieces. The first night was only pain. John might have wept, might have screamed into the darkness but he couldn't recall. Again the only constant was the pain. The loss. The shock. The smell of Sherlock was all over the flat. John gasped for air as the agony of loss ripped him further apart. They'd had so little time together. It was too soon, they'd only begun to learn one another. 

The funeral was almost too much. John wrapped himself in every bit of soldier he could dig out of himself and for the love of Sherlock forced himself to stand in front of everyone to grieve politely as a friend and not a lover. He said his words, not remembering exactly what he he planned to say but getting them out despite the hollow void inside him that had grown and grown. 

John stood by the grave long after everyone had left. He needed to say goodbye, to make a beginning for grief. John thought of his lover's demon eyes and told Sherlock about how he'd always wondered about his humanity. He begged him to be amazing one more time, to give John one more miracle so he'd have something to hang onto. His small hand caressed the cold stone as he brokenly made his final wish. 

“Just stop it, stop this...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Restrain your anguished tears! I wouldn't leave John wallowing in despair! There's more, oh so much more. Just wait as the story continues in "All The Bones"
> 
> coming soon


End file.
